Guilt
by coveredinbees14
Summary: An entry in the Newsies Pape Selling Competition: Circulation Four involving two newsies running into each other years after the strike. Rated K for swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is an entry in the Newsies Pape Selling Competition: Circulation Four: Jobs. This is kind of a mix of assignment two and three.

 **Assignment Two:** This is for the "bad boys" (nah just kidding these kids weren't bad they were fine) who ended up on the gangs maybe before they became a newsie. That's basically it, write about a newsie being a gang member before becoming a newsie or something of the sort. (Information is provided below.)

 **Assignment Three:** Write about the job of a newsboy after he was too old for the "newsboy profession" (hahahahaha ... references only the Broadway fans will get. sigh. or if you just watch a lot of newsie things on YouTube...wasn't even a true reference but hey I try. Also once more, examples will be provided below.).

It's not what I wanted it to be, but it was one of those late at night things :) Enjoy and thank you for reading!

* * *

Law school would have never been part of his plan if David hadn't met Jack Kelly and ended up helping lead a rag tag group of boys in a strike against some of the most powerful men in New York. It still wouldn't have come up if David hadn't seen the condition of his friends after one night in the refuge and heard the trumped up charges against Jack and Race and the rest. And it absolutely would not have been part of his plan if he hadn't realized that one of the best ways he could help people in the future was to become a public defender. Jack was doing well for himself as a crime beat reporter under Denton's tutelage and he'd often pass David a few names of people who could use assistance in navigating the corrupt justice system. So despite his father's hesitation and his own struggles with self-confidence, David started feeling pretty good about what good he was doing in the world.

Then he walked into the holding cell that Monday morning and felt the sure, smooth path crumble under his feet.

The man sitting before him was taller, more muscular than he remembered. Exhaustion was evident by his pale skin and stubble-covered chin but those blue eyes had lost none of their intensity over the years.

"You seem surprised."

David glanced down at the file in his right hand, back at the defendant, and then back down at the file.

"You're Murphy?"

"Am I?" If David was unsure before, that feeling vanished the moment he saw the smirk. "Could be, could be not."

"So you gave a false name?" David flipped through the file but there is only the one name typed at the top of each page. The signature is illegible and David doesn't doubt that is exactly what Spot wanted when he wrote it.

"Way to keep up, Jacobs. Guess that fancy degree was well worth the money." For a minute David is right back to being the nervous kid standing on the docks of the East River but he recovers.

"It might help keep you out of prison so I'd say it's worth a little something."

David took a seat, shuffling through the paperwork as Spot tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. David realized Spot was still handcuffed. It shouldn't have seemed like that big of a deal considering his other clients but seeing the once proud King of Brooklyn handcuffed and downtrodden was something new.

"You got a cigarette?"

"S-sorry?" David looked up from the list of charges. Disorderly conduct, intoxication, assault and battery and attempted murder..

"A cigarette," Spot repeated his request.

"No, I don't smoke," David told him. He set a pencil and blank piece of paper on the table and pushed it across to Spot. "So, which charge do you want to start with?"

Spot eyed the pencil with annoyance. "Unless you want that up your ass, I suggest you start by getting me a fucking cigarette, Jacobs."

David gulped and patted his pockets down even as he knew there was no cigarette to be found there.

"Christ. Ask the fucking guard," Spot explained with a roll of his eyes.

David was surprised by the guard's affability and set the cigarette he paid for down in front of Spot.

"Match?"

David felt like a child as he shamefacedly obtained a match and passed it over to Spot. He could only imagine what the guard must have thought and what that would do for his reputation among the other jailers.

Smoke wafted across the table as Spot exhaled smoothly and for the first time since David had entered the room Spot appeared at ease. Of course, as David well knew, that was nothing more than an illusion. It was probably best that Spot was still handcuffed, at least in David's expert opinion.

"These are some pretty serious charges," David stated, looking down at the file again.

"Surprised there ain't more?" Spot asked.

"No, not at all," David said, trying to recover but Spot didn't appear to buy it.

"So, what happened? Jacky-boy got wind of me in here and sent you as a joke?"

"I think he thought I could help."

"And what if I don't want your help?"

"Think about how well you did last time you weren't represented by council," David told him, referring back to the trial during the strike. "I remember the judge was less than impressed."

Spot didn't even blink. "Look at you, growing a backbone. Bravo."

David felt a flush creep up the back of his neck as Spot gazed at him evenly and there was some question in David's mind as to what his next step should be. Law school had covered any number of issues, but it hadn't exactly told him how to deal with a situation like Spot Conlon.

"Ok, so what do you want to start with?" David asked, hoping the conversation would go easier now that Spot appeared to be in a slightly better mood.

"You're the lawyer."

"Well, why don't you tell me what happened."

"Look, Mouth, this is gonna go one way so don't get yourself all outta joint. No matter what I tell you happened, they already got their story."

David chose to ignore the reference to his less than flattering nickname and tried to come at the problem from a different angle.

"It says here there was a woman involved. Girlfriend of yours?" David asked.

For the first time David understood why people claimed that silence could be deafening. He had assumed it would be an innocent question and give him a witness that he could interview since Spot was being so stubborn. But it was not the question to ask and David came to that realization quickly as Spot glared at him with a look of pure hate and rage that darkened his pale skin.

"I'm-I mean-sorry," David stammered. "I just thought maybe she could help."

For a split second David saw Spot's eyes flicker as the mask of indifference slipped but it was gone before he knew it.

"You want to do something for me, Jacobs? Find her and let me know she's okay."

David swallowed hard and considered his next step. Bargaining with Spot was something he had never been sure of and time hadn't made things any easier.

"Can I ask a question?"

"You just did."

"Who is she? What does she have to do with all of this?"

"Like I said, find her and let me know she's okay. Then, we'll talk."

"Five questions."

"Two."

"Three and I'll throw in a pack of cigarettes next time." Spot considered the offer and then nodded once in agreement.

"What happened?"

"Figures you go for the big question first, Dave." Spot flicked cigarette ash onto the floor and studied David for a moment. "Basically, I tried to kill a guy, didn't, and now I'm in here talking to you. Next."

"That isn't exactly an answer."

Spot exhaled toward the ceiling and settled back in his chair with the same smirking look he was known for. "Next question."

David rubbed the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably. "Um, I don't really think that giving me one or two word answers is fulfilling your part of the deal."

"You got two left, Jacobs."

"Fine," Dave said, exasperated. "I'll try again. What happened?"

"Same as before. You sure you want to waste your time asking twice?"

"I need information if I'm going to do anything to help."

"There's this fella who runs a pub down in the Bowery and is running a pretty good opium operation on the side. Not too long ago he got a permit letting him open a lounge, which is just a front for his girls. Makes things look more on the up and up. He likes hooking 'em young, pumping 'em full of opium and keeping them under his thumb. I had a little issue with that. Satisfied now? Last question."

"All right, fine. So who is this woman I'm supposed to find? What does she have to do with anything?"

"That's two questions."

David cursed under his breath and for the first time he saw what could have been a glimmer of a smile cross Spot's face.

"Ok, so who is she?"

"She's my wife," Spot admitted with a hard look. "And it's 'cause of her that I'm in here."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Good gravy, I don't know what this is ;) But Pixielou and Emador were so kind as to review and Pixielou asked me to write some more so I did but I'm still working on it so I apologize to her if this is not what it should be. There is another part coming, I hope it will be better.

Thank you so much Pixielou and Emador! Enjoy and thank you for reading!

* * *

"The Bowery, huh?" Jack asked without looking up from his lunch. "Never figured Spot'd ever live anywhere but Brooklyn."

"He does live in Brooklyn, but he was arrested in the Bowery. I said that already," David explained in a huff. "So do you know this place?"

"The Parisian? Sure, I've heard of it," Jack answered, glancing at the address David pushed across the table. He looked David up and down quickly. "You sure you want to do this? It ain't exactly the type of place for someone like you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Despite having spent a number of years honing his craft amongst some of New York's seediest, David had a feeling Jack and his crew would forever see him as the innocent kid with the perfect family who had never even seen the inside of a jail cell.

"Don't get your nose outta joint, Dave," Jack grinned. "It's just some places have a certain purpose and it ain't exactly high society that likes to spend their time around the company at the Parisian."

"I know what a brothel is," David said in a dull voice. He had assumed so given the little information Spot had offered but Jack had just eliminated any doubt David had.

"Well, guess we better be on our way then," Jack told him, crumpling his napkin and tossing it onto his plate. "Don't suppose you have any extra cash?"

"I thought you had a job now," David answered, tossing a few coins onto the table. It just figured that he'd still be paying for Jack's lunch. Even when all he'd had was a glass of root beer.

* * *

The Parisian turned out to be a house situated among a row of similar looking establishments and David was grateful he'd brought Jack as he would have otherwise never found the place. David hung back half a step as Jack knocked confidently on the door.

"We're closed," an older woman told them abruptly as she opened the door. Jack shoved his foot in just before she was able to slam the door shut again. Her hair was frizzled and contained more grey hairs than brown. Her face was coated with powder and rouge that didn't quite hide a number of pockmarks still visible.

Jack nudged David with a significant look and David peeled a bill off the small stack he'd taken from his savings before going on this goose hunt. Jack had assured David that he'd be paid back eventually but David was beginning to have his doubts.

"Welcome to the Parisian, gentleman," the woman smiled scornfully as Jack and David entered the small foyer. The place was dingy and had clearly seen better days from the look of the strips of wallpaper hanging down in places and the stale air that reeked of old perfume and beer. David went to take a seat on one of the chintz covered chairs but stopped when Jack shook his head.

"We're looking for someone," David offered in an attempt to break the ice as the woman stood staring mutely at the two young men.

"Aren't we all, darling," the woman answered. "And what kind of someone are you gentleman looking for? Afraid I have to charge for two even if you share."

The contents of David's stomach roiled at the woman's suggestion but he tried to keep his cool. By the look of it, Jack was enjoying David's nervousness entirely too much.

"My friend here could use a little cheering up," Jack interjected. "As for myself, I wouldn't say no to a glass of beer."

If looks could kill, Jack Kelly would have been dead where he stood. As the woman led David further into the house he noticed Jack lingered behind in the foyer, eyeing a ledger that had been left open on the desk. David's feet were heavy and he nearly stumbled up the narrow set of stairs behind the older woman.

"Five minutes," the woman told him before she rapped once on a door and shoved David inside, closing the door swiftly behind him. The room was similar to the foyer downstairs with the same yellowing wallpaper but there was a dressing table, a bed, and a couple of chairs all decorated with any number of cheap fabric and trinkets to make a person think they were anywhere but a cheap brothel in the Bowery.

A young girl was seated at the dressing table, smoking a cigarette and gazing at David with a look that was half-wondering, half-predatory. Kohl rimmed her tired looking eyes and there were traces of make-up that didn't quite do the job of making her look any older than David guessed she really was.

"Um, I'm, um," David stammered.

The girl laughed but it wasn't a pleasant sounding laugh. It was hard and bitter. "Well, Um, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Daisy."

"Daisy?"

"Or Rose. Or Lily. Or whatever you prefer. Ms. McClain has something about flower names," Daisy explained.

"I'm David. But I'm not here for anything. I mean, I am here for something but I just need some information."

"Did you pay?" Daisy asked as she picked up a powder puff and applied more make-up to her cheeks.

"Yes, I mean, I paid but that's not what I came here for."

"It's your dime, doll." Daisy shrugged as she moved to the bed and sat in what David was sure his mother would have considered a very unladylike position.

"I'm looking for someone. A few nights ago the owner of this place was assaulted. Were you one of the girls who were here that night?"

Daisy's eyes hardened as she looked David up and down. "Nope."

"So, you weren't working that night?"

"No."

David rubbed his shirtsleeve across his forehead in exasperation. "You didn't see anything that night? Not who did it? Or what happened?"

"No." Daisy toyed with a fake set of pearls, weighing them in her hand as she stared at David. "It's so hard to find decent jewelry these days. Most bummers don't even act the gentleman anymore and bring a girl anything that sparkles."

David peeled yet another bill off the increasingly thin stack and handed it over. He'd spent enough time in the criminal world to understand another bribe would be needed.

"As I said, I didn't see anything. But I do happen to know someone who did. Probably the girl you're looking for. Nice girl but her fella is a piece of work. None of us would be in this if it weren't for him. I mean so his girl needs a little help sleeping, that means he has to go and get this whole place practically shut down? Some of us gotta work for a living, you know?"

"Do you know where I might find this girl? She was here that night so I thought maybe she'd be here, working as you put it?"

"Maggie? No, she doesn't work here. Not anymore. Turns out she got herself outta here but not before the boss got her good and hooked. Guess that's why she ended up coming back that night. But good luck finding her 'cause the boss has his boys out looking for her. He wants his revenge for getting his head busted in, I suppose."

"Time!" David jumped as the older woman's voice rang right outside the door to Daisy's room. Before he could even get another question out David found himself ushered out onto the front stoop with Jack. He was ten dollars in the hole and had only slightly more information than he'd had when he entered the Parisian.

"You know, you oughta be grateful that you know me," Jack told him as he strode down the street next to a livid David.

"Oh, yeah? And why's that? Because I just lost ten dollars of my savings? Because I had to pay for lunch? Or because I'm no further along than I was before, except now I feel like I need to take a bath," David huffed.

"Or because I am a master thief," Jack smiled as he held out a folded piece of paper to David. It had clearly been torn from the ledger and had a list of names of people who apparently owed money to the owner of the Parisian. David quickly perused the list of names, noticing a particular name about half way down the page. Maggie Walsh, the exact name Spot had supplied him with before David had left the day they'd talked. There was an address and an amount alongside her name as well.

"So, you gonna buy me dinner, or what?"

David just shook his head in disbelief at Jack's never-ending appetite and felt just a little bit better about the money he'd lost and the experience he'd just gained.


	3. Author Note

Sorry to get people excited - this is just a note from me to you :-) I have not and will not abandon this story. I am overwhelmed by the positive response (big shout out to Pixielou and Emador - the story's loyal fans!) and am trying to write while on vacation and dealing with some family stuff. But I shall return and the story will go on :-) Thank you for your patience!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Fair warning to all readers - I wrote this in one go so my apologies if it isn't what you expected/wanted. I tried my best but I think my muse has given up on me lately. I hope it isn't too much of a letdown. Thank you for reading and thank you to Pixielou and Emador for giving me the courage to continue - I really, really hope I didn't mess this story up *cringe*

Thank you for reading!

* * *

"I'm guessing you ain't found her yet." It was the closest David had ever seen Spot come to smiling as he entered the holding cell for the second time. The amusement in Spot's voice was clear but it only irritated David further. He was foot-sore and sunburned and tired of chasing a woman who appeared to be a ghost. The piece of paper Jack had supplied had only led David in circles.

"Well, since your information was less than complete this was all I had," David snapped. He tossed the brown paper package with the promised cigarettes across to Spot along with the slip of paper Jack had stolen. Spot barely looked at the list of names as he pocketed the cigarettes.

"So, if you ain't found her, what are you doing here?" Spot asked him mildly. "We have nothing to talk about."

"That's it? You expect me to go back out there and keep going with this wild goose chase?"

"I don't expect anything, Jacobs. You're the one who came to me," Spot pointed out.

"Well, you're on your own," David snapped. "I'm tired of doing your bidding. I don't even think you are married. I think this girl is just another one of your floozies-"

"Watch your mouth, Davey. I ain't about to take lip off of you and I can just as easily soak you with these things on than without 'em," Spot remarked coldly as he lifted the handcuffs that encircled his wrists.

"Sorry," David mumbled, running his hands through his hair. "I just figured that with that address and that girl who'd known her, she'd be easier to find."

"What girl?" Spot narrowed his eyes at this new information.

"The girl at the Parisian that I talked about Maggie with-"

Spot muttered a string of curse words as he shook his head and David began to realize that speaking with some random girl probably hadn't been the best idea.

"It isn't like you gave me much to go on," David huffed.

"So let me guess, you went poking around the Hill and no one would talk to you. Or if they did talk to you, they told you to shove off and mind your own business?" Spot asked with a knowing look.

"Something like that," David said, blushing in humiliation at the memory of the language that had been used by men and women in the Vinegar Hill neighborhood when he went looking for Maggie.

"Being friends with Jacky-boy all this time I would have thought you'd figure out by now when someone is using a fake name or address."

"Like Murphy?" David asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Now you're getting it," Spot smirked.

"So this is what? Just a game for your amusement?" David asked irritably. " _You're_ the one who gave me that name."

"I gave you _a_ name," Spot explained. "I never said it was the name she's using now. Hazards of being locked up I guess. But if you're right and McClain is looking for her, then there's one place she'd go."

Spot pulled a battered envelope from his pocket and pushed it across the table. David picked it up and examined the outside, noting the address scrawled across one corner.

"Take that and don't bother asking anyone for directions or even bring up her name. Start using those brains of yours and figure it out. Don't take Kelly or anyone else with you."

David swallowed the many comments he had about Spot, his behavior, the contents of that envelope, and any number of other issues. He ignored the voice inside that told him to give up and just let Spot live with the consequences but he was intrigued by this mystery woman and how she was connected to Spot Conlon.

* * *

"Is he dead?"

David was groggy from sleep and his muscles protested as he tried to shift into a sitting position up against the grimy brick wall. It was then that he discovered the pointed end of a knife was being held just under his jawline. With the amount of blood rushing through his veins and the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears, David was unsure if he had heard the question correctly or if he was even sure who the 'he' was in the situation. The voice was feminine but he could barely make out her outline in the dim lighting outside the broken building.

"Is who dead?" David asked when he managed to find his voice.

"My beloved husband," the woman scorned. "Spot Conlon."

"No," David answered cautiously. He reached for his pocket to take out the envelope Spot has given him and inhaled sharply as the knife pressed closer to his flesh. He raised one hand in surrender and moved slowly. "I have a letter."

Three days he'd been waiting outside that particular building and for three days he hadn't seen a soul coming or going. He tried to smooth the letter out but Maggie snatched it from his hand before he could even say or do anything.

"Guess you get to live a bit longer then yourself."

"You must be Maggie," David commented since the woman didn't appear inclined to introduce herself.

"Some call me that," she told him. "Or at least they used to."

Maggie lifted the edge of her skirt just above the top of her scuffed boot and slid the knife back into its hiding place. As she straightened up David noticed her studying him closely.

"You're the college boy, eh? Heard a lot about you, David Jacobs," Maggie explained. She placed a key in the door and opened it, standing to one side and gesturing for David to enter. "Guess we'd better get going if we're going to finish this thing."

"Wait," David said as he stood and felt his legs tingling as the blood circulated through again. "How'd you find me? Where have you been? Did you know-"

Maggie placed her hand over David's mouth and shoved him backward with more force than he thought her capable of given her small frame.

"Look, I know you're not from here so I'll make it easy for you. You discuss business out here, you're dead. So unless you want to be next in line, follow me and keep your trap shut."

Once the newsies had grown older and begun to part ways David rarely thought about where many of them had ended up in life. He had been far too busy trying to survive college to wonder about the whereabouts and living conditions of a group of boys he'd known once upon a time. So seeing the place that Spot Conlon called home was eye-opening to say the least. The tiny one-room apartment Maggie led him up the stairs to was barely furnished and there was nothing to provide evidence that anyone even lived there other than an untidy bed and an empty plate on the miniscule kitchen table.

"You and Spot live here?" David asked, looking around. He tried to keep a mental image of the place so he could describe it to Jack later on.

"We live a lot of places," Maggie answered. She tossed the letter on the table with the plate and reached to the shelf above the sink, pulling down a cigarette and lighting it before crossing to the narrow window. She turned for a moment and eyed the letter but frowned slightly and went back to gazing out the window.

David picked his satchel up off the ground and pulled the thin file out before placing it open on the table. Maggie didn't even give him a second glance as David pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

"So what do you want, David Jacobs?" Maggie asked, tipping cigarette ash onto the floor.

"Actually, all Spot asked is that I make sure you are okay," David admitted.

"What name is he using?"

"Murphy."

There was a snort of derision. "Figures."

"He's facing some pretty serious charges," David explained.

Smoke issued from Maggie's lips as she laughed cynically. "You really think he's gonna let you be his lawyer? That's cute."

"I do have a degree," David pointed out. "I think I could help him."

Maggie stared at him for a full minute before she walked over and grabbed the letter. Her face darkened as she perused the contents and David doodled the name 'Maggie' at the top of his notebook without realizing it. She was nothing like what he had pictured although he had to admit he'd never quite pictured Spot as married or settled down or doing much of anything that everyday people did. Maggie was slight with brown hair and brown eyes which David realized would make her all the more difficult to pick out of a crowd due to so many other women fitting her description. Still, there was an air about her that David couldn't quite place.

When Maggie finished reading she folded the letter up and placed it in the pocket of her skirt. There was nothing in her face that gave anything away about the contents of the letter or her feelings toward David.

"So, perhaps we should start with the basics. First and last name?"

"Told you people call me Maggie. As for my last name, put Conlon if you feel like it."

"If I feel like it? Is Conlon your last name?"

"Sure."

"And how long have you two been together?"

"Together or married?" Maggie asked.

"Married," David answered although he wondered just how long the two had been together before making things official.

"One month and three days of this nightmare," Maggie told him.

David's intuition told him that Maggie was going to be no easier to deal with than Spot and so he decided to skip right to the bigger issue.

"Ok," David continued, "so you were there the night that Spot attacked Mr. McClain at the Parisian, correct?"

"Yes."

"Could you tell me what happened?"

There was a long pause before Maggie rose and stubbed the cigarette out on the plate that had been sitting on the table. She crossed to the sink and placed the plate down, keeping her back toward David. He could see the tension in her shoulders as she stood there, staring at the blank wall in front of her.

"It doesn't matter, you know. No matter what I say, you won't understand," Maggie said quietly and David flashed back to the similar comment Spot had made when they'd met previously.

"Try me," David said, trying to sound a bit upbeat.

"You can't understand," Maggie told him as she turned to him. "You don't know this world."

"I've had some pretty tough cases," David began.

"I'm sure you have," Maggie replied. "But you still believe in the justice system. The true, honest, justice is blind kind of system."

"Is there another justice system?" David asked, half-joking.

"You know there is," Maggie answered with a small, bitter smile. "You were part of it."

"You mean the strike? That was years ago," David replied. But as he said it, he realized what she was talking about. The idea of one small voice going up against the giants of the city and fighting against the injustice was exactly why he'd gone into studying law once the strike was over.

"How did you even know about that?"

Maggie allowed a small, bitter smile and reclaimed her seat at the table. "I've known Spot Conlon for a very long time. I might even say I know him better than anyone but I'm sure he'd come up with a way to make me eat those words."

Like most newsies David had been aware of Spot's reputation, the rumors that swirled around him, but he'd never really considered himself as someone who could say he knew Spot Conlon. Maggie was the first person he'd ever met who may have possibly been able to understand what kind of person Spot was.

"He's setting you up to fail," Maggie interrupted David's thoughts. "You should get out while you still can, forget about him."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a con game, David. If it isn't you, he'll just use someone else. The only reason I'm giving you an out is because you seem like a sweet guy. You don't want to get mixed up in this."

"I hate to point out the obvious, but I already am. How do you know so much about me, anyway?"

"News travels around here. All it took was a couple of hours and I found out everything I need to know about you."

"Like what?" David asked curiously. He'd never met someone quite as forthright as Maggie and he admitted to himself that part of what drove him to keep putting up with Spot was his intrigue about the woman currently sitting across from him.

"David Jacobs, twenty-four years old, graduate of New York Law School, has a sister named Sarah and brother named Les, parents are Ester and…"

"All right, I get it," David interrupted. "Didn't think Spot was that interested in me that he'd tell you all that."

"I didn't get any of that from Spot," Maggie scoffed. "You Manhattan boys just love to talk. 'Specially that Kelly."

"I can't believe he didn't tell me that he talked to you," David said, tossing his pen to one side and sitting back in his chair.

"Don't go getting sore at him," Maggie told him. "He didn't know who I was. One of the benefits of being a girl in this business is no one suspects what you're really getting at. Admit it, part of you is still sitting here talking with me 'cause you want to know what kind of girl would marry Spot Conlon."

David felt a flush creep up the back of his neck as Maggie exposed his true reason for the visit. Of course he told himself that he was only there to make sure she was okay, but after determining that he really should have left long before that.

"What do you mean?" David asked nervously. "I'm only here to find out the truth about what happened so I can help Spot."

"You want to help Spot?" Maggie asked carefully. "I need you to think carefully about your answer, David. 'Cause once you're in his debt, that's it."

"Wouldn't he be in my debt since I'm the one helping him?" David asked with a small smile.

"He'd have you think that," Maggie answered. "So are you in or out?"

"What happens if I say no?"

"You should," Maggie told him simply. "Take it from someone who knows and who should have told him 'no' a long time ago."

"So I should just let him go to jail? Did he even really do any of this?" David asked as he gestured toward the list of charges.

"In or out, David." Maggie gazed at him coldly as he tried to swallow his frustration. He should have known that anyone married to Spot Conlon would be just as difficult to deal with as Spot himself.

"What happens after all this?"

"You want the truth? Either way, it turns out bad for you. You say no to Spot Conlon, which we both know doesn't happen often, and you can guess how that ends. Or you say yes," Maggie warned in a dire voice.

"I guess I'm in," David stammered.

"Your funeral," Maggie told him as she moved toward the bed. She bent down and used the knife from earlier to pry up one of the floorboards. She pulled a small brown paper sack from the dusty space and straightened up. Turning it upside down she emptied the contents onto the table in front of David. The bag had been full of paper money, more than he'd ever set eyes on.

"Count it," Maggie instructed him. David nervously tallied up the money and placed it into a neat stack before leaning back in his chair and staring at Maggie in disbelief.

"There's over a hundred and fifty dollars there," David told her. Maggie picked up the money and placed it back in the paper bag before folding it closed and shoving it across the table toward David.

"You said you wanted to help, so you're going to take that money and get him the hell out of jail."

"I don't plan on charging him that much," David protested. He was surprised to hear himself even consider taking any money from such an unreliable source.

"It's not for you," Maggie said as she rolled her eyes. "It's bribe money. For the guards, the judge, whoever sticks their nose in."

"I don't think I can do this," David told her, still feeling a mix of disbelief and horror.

"It's too late, David. I tried to tell you that this is not the world you're used to but you are clearly a stubborn person," Maggie smiled knowingly. It was clear she understood the position she had placed David in and was not immune to the negative consequences of being tied to someone like Spot.

"How am I even supposed to go about-?" The question died on David's lips as he pondered the task that Maggie had laid before him.

"Get the money to Spot, he'll take care of it," Maggie told him. "You'll get your share when he's out."

"You keep asking me why I'm mixed up in all of this but I could ask you the same question."

Maggie pulled another cigarette down off the shelf and began smoking again. "You might want to consider that you're already in deep enough, David."

"I think I'd like to know," David said cautiously.

"It's a pretty simple story. My mother died when I was small and my Da decided he needed to remarry so there'd be someone to take care of me and my sister while he worked. He ended up married to a real peach of a woman with connections to one of the Red Onion fellas. One day she decides to turn us both out to the McClains. That was back when they were still on Sands Street. Didn't take long before my sister was using opium to get by and I was on my own again."

"That's when you met Spot?" David asked.

"He used to hang out along Sands Street," Maggie explained. "I'm sure you've heard about his reputation."

David just nodded and waited for Maggie to continue. Her face took on a faraway look although her voice didn't change or waver as she told her story.

"Spot never was one for relying on selling newspapers for a living. He always had his mind on bigger things. He'd show up just when I didn't think I could take it anymore and tell me about how one day he was gonna get us out of this mess, how he was going to run Brooklyn. They were nice stories and all. I never thought I'd see him actually do it."

"That night at the Parisian," David said slowly. "What happened?"

"You'll have to ask him," Maggie told him. She walked over to the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. "Our business here is finished, Mr. Jacobs."

David briefly considered putting up an argument as he felt like she had only given him a few crumbs worth of information but the determined look on her face caused him to reconsider. He packed his few papers back into his satchel and reached for the letter.

"Leave it," Maggie said sharply. "It isn't for you."

David nodded once in understanding and made his way out the door and back to the street. He breathed the air in deeply, glad to be out of the cramped apartment. However, the fact that a parcel containing more money than he'd ever had in his lifetime sat at the bottom of his satchel gave him a case of the nerves. Despite the late hour he made a beeline for Manhattan and decided that it was time to get Spot to divulge the whole truth, for once.


End file.
